Sometimes I stop to think about it.
While the majority of my brain has cleared the outdated debris, tiny dust balls remain.
On one certain day a week (and is a weekly occurrence,) these dust balls containing fragmented memories either get kicked up and fly around (literally) or little caffeinated cartoon balls just, FLIP OUT, man. (figuratively.)
And they produce such questions, as to wonder,
Why so passe?
Will you just talk to me?
Do you enjoy being a jerk? (and that's said with a 'hate to say this, but in an all signs point to yes,' kind of way.)
And the ever so interesting, Why is it that when I do my finest at ignoring you, I actually feel like you're actually attentive in my direction?
It'll always be a mystery. One that I must keep in the past.
Stop diggin' that thar' hole. That'san order.
No comments:
Post a Comment